


Song of the South

by songs_of_the_moon



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Family Reunion, Hannibal has a moment, Homophobia, M/M, Social Anxiety, over-zealous religiosity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songs_of_the_moon/pseuds/songs_of_the_moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will goes back to Louisiana for the first time in years. Hannibal accompanies him.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>“This is a bad idea. On par with, with trying to take elephants through the Alps kind of bad idea.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Song of the South

The letter sat on the counter, incongruously plain in Hannibal’s kitchen and mocking Will with its very presence.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Hannibal asked without looking up from the mixing bowl in front of him.

“No.” Will crossed his arms. “I already know what it says.” He knew he sounded childish.

“Then why bring it?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“It’s postmarked from Louisiana. Is it from family?” Hannibal glanced over his shoulder to look at Will, who avoided his gaze.

“Yeah. It’s,” Will huffed, exasperated, “it’s an invitation. There’s a family reunion every year, and I always get invited even though I haven’t gone since I was a kid.”

“I see.” Hannibal returned his focus to the crêpe batter. “I think you should go.”

Will jumped. “Why? My anxiety about crowds won’t be any less because they’re family. Hell, if anything it’ll be worse.”

“Perhaps, but you know more effective coping mechanisms now than you did the last time you attended such a gathering,” Hannibal pointed out, eminently reasonable.

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be _pleasant_.” Will gripped his biceps tightly. “Aunts like a swarm of vultures, wondering why I haven’t got a pregnant wife and two kids, and did I know that Norma Jean’s girl is single?” He shuddered.

“I never suggested that you go alone.” The batter hissed when it hit the pan.

Will made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “You’re not coming with me—I mean, I’m not going, but even if I were, you wouldn’t be coming with me.”

“Why not? Are you unwilling to introduce me to your extended family?”

“Yes!” Will barked out before he could stop himself.

Hannibal very deliberately set the spatula down and turned to look at Will, eyebrow raised. Will flushed.

“It’s just,” Will roughly ran his hands through his hair, “none of them have any idea that I’m anything but straight. It really shouldn’t be any of their business but they’ll _make it_ their business and I can barely talk to them like a normal person when they’re not trying to figure out the logistics of my sex life and wondering where my dad went wrong!”

“Will, it’s fine.” Hannibal took him by the shoulders. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He stepped away long enough to flip the crêpes, and then he was back, Will’s wrists caught by his long fingers. “However, this only furthers my conviction that you should attend.” Will opened his mouth to protest; Hannibal put a finger to his lips. “You have the strength to stand up to your family’s disapproval, and this reunion presents a perfect opportunity to prove it to yourself.”

Will frowned. “You’ll come with me?”

“I’ll come with you.”

The slump of Will’s shoulders signaled his acquiescence. “Then I guess I should read the letter, find out when the damn thing is.”

Hannibal smiled.

***

“Hannibal, you’re not seriously packing that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Combining wool and a Louisiana August is a recipe for heatstroke.”

“What, then, would you recommend?”

“Honestly, I’m not even sure you have anything suitable.”

“That’s hardly encouraging, dear Will.”

***

Will balked when they approached the car. “I really think this is a bad idea.”

“We’ve already discussed this, Will.” Hannibal deposited their suitcases in the trunk.

“Yeah, and it’s still a bad idea. On par with, with trying to take elephants through the Alps kind of bad idea,” Will insisted.

Hannibal snorted at the weak joke.

When they finally left, it was only ten minutes behind schedule.

***

“So, I think I should, uh, warn you about some things,” Will said, wringing his hands.

“I have seen you at your worst, dear Will. I can think of nothing I would need to be warned about.”

Will shook his head. “Not about me. About my family—the deep south in general. It’s…it can be a bit of a culture shock. Caroline, Louisiana is a hell of a lot different from Baltimore, Maryland.”

Hannibal smiled faintly but didn’t look away from the road. “I am well acquainted with culture shock,” he pointed out.

“Fine,” Will huffed, “but don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”

“What do you want to tell me, Will?” Hannibal asked. Will knew when he was being indulged.

He ran with it anyway: “Okay, look, if any of the women tell you, ‘Oh bless your heart’, she’s about to say something really passive-aggressive. In fact, ‘passive-aggressive’ is basically the default state for Southern women. You’re going to get asked, ‘Where you from, darlin’?’ and when you tell them, they’re going to assume you’re a communist, and possibly start telling anti-Semitic jokes. When you say that you’re a psychiatrist, you’re going to be asked why you don’t have a real job. And, and I’ll add more as I think of it.”

“It surely won’t be that bad,” Hannibal soothed.

“You’re right,” Will groused. “It’s going to be worse.”

***

It was hotter than Will remembered. Hannibal, out of his comfort zone in jeans and a plaid button-down, looked utterly miserable.

“Will? ‘S that you, boy?” The voice was familiar, even though Will hadn’t heard it in years.

“Yeah, Uncle Phil, it’s me.” Will walked slowly toward the milling group, resigned to his fate. Hannibal followed a few paces behind. “Uh, how’ve you been?”

“I been alright. Your aunt Clara left me a few years back, ran off with some doctor.” He shrugged. “Not much else is different.”

“R-right.”

Phil turned suddenly and hollered, “John’s kid’s finally dragged his high-and-mighty ass back down from D.C.”

Will blanched.

“I’m here, Will. Remember that,” Hannibal murmured, standing at Will’s shoulder.

 _The harpies are approaching_ , Will thought a bit hysterically, watching three generations of women approach him with purposeful strides. Hannibal’s hand at the small of his back was the only thing grounding him

“Will, honey, how are you?” and a dozen variations of the same crowded his ears as he was pulled into a suffocating, heavily perfumed embrace. His chest grew tight, his breathing labored. He felt like he was drowning.

“He is quite pleased to see you all.” Hannibal’s voice was like a lifeline, and then he was holding Will’s wrist and pulling him out of the crush of bodies and finally he could breathe again.

“Who’re you?” Subtlety had never been Cousin Mae’s forte.

“I am Will’s partner.” Hannibal’s grip was tight past the point of comfort; Will focused on the pressure.

Cousin Julie narrowed her eyes. “I thought you weren’t a cop no more.” She was heavily pregnant.

Will took a deep breath. “I’m not.”

It took a moment for the news to register. Aunt Jessie was the first to speak: “Y’all two are sleeping together, is that what you’re sayin’?”

“Yeah, that’s what we’re saying.” Will fidgeted under the disapproval and faint traceries of disgust rolling off them. He knew the others were beginning to be drawn by the commotion, knew it because people always liked to stare at a lost cause.

“Why’s everybody so angry?” It was a child’s voice, and the tension eased. Will looked down to see a cotton-top girl of maybe seven, arms crossed as she stared up at the adults.

“We’re not angry, honey,” Jessie soothed, “we were just havin’ a grown-up talk with your cousin Will.”

“Grown-up talks are boring,” the little girl declared. She turned and flounced away, pigtails streaming.

There was a moment of awkward silence, broken when Hannibal—ever the gentleman—took it upon himself to restart the conversation. “I’m afraid we haven’t yet been properly introduced.” He smiled charmingly. “I’m Hannibal Lecter.”

The pleasantries went better than Will could have ever hoped, even if only because no one had pulled out a bible yet. After a few minutes the women disbanded, spreading through the gathering with gossip on their tongues.

“Oh, god,” Will groaned, taking off his glasses so he could scrub his face. “We’re going to be the topic of conversation for _years_.”

“It could have gone much worse, dear Will.” Hannibal patted his back.

“I can’t see how.”

***

Now he could.

“Why ain’t you been goin’ to church, boy?” Uncle Bobby glared down his cigarette at Will. Despite the moniker, he was not actually Will’s uncle—it was simply what everyone called him.

Will flexed his hands, felt bone and tendon move under Hannibal’s grip. “I don’t…I don’t really have the time to—”

“Don’t have the time? You better start makin’ time for th’ Lord, boy, before your time is up.”

Hannibal brushed his thumb against the inside of Will’s wrist; Will took a deep breath. He regretted the thoughtless admission that he had stopped attending church, but there wasn’t anything he could do now except damage control.

Bobby glanced at Hannibal. “Is he why you turned away from God? Did he corrupt you over to the side of the sodomites and the demons?”

Will glared at Bobby’s collarbone. “Hannibal has nothing to do with this.”

“Leave the boy alone, Bobby,” Martha called to her husband. “He’s made his bed, an’ he’ll lie in it soon enough.” She ended with a wracking smoker’s cough, cigarette dangling from her fingers.

Bobby subsided, turning back to the buffet table and mumbling things Will made an effort not to hear.

“He is quite rude,” Hannibal murmured, accent thickened with agitation.

Will just nodded in response.

***

A little girl shrieked with laughter as she ran, other children swarming around her. Hannibal looked toward the sound and saw the girl who had defused the situation with Will’s female relations wandering over to him.

“Daddy says you’re a queer,” she announced conversationally.

“In what sense of the word?” He was willing to be patient with the girl; she had no control over the circumstances of her birth, after all.

She wrinkled her nose. “I dunno.” She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know your name. Daddy says I shouldn’t talk to strangers, but if I know your name, you’re not a stranger.” She nodded definitively, pleased with her own reasoning.

“My name is Hannibal.” He extended his hand.

“I’m Margaret Ann, but you can call me Maggie. Everybody else does.” She eyed his outstretched hand dubiously.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maggie.” Hannibal gave up and clasped his hands behind his back.

“You talk funny,” Maggie informed him.

Hannibal raised a brow.

Maggie pouted. “Fine then. Stay there, I’ll be right back.” She ran off into the throng.

Hannibal glanced over his shoulder at the rundown farmhouse Will had retreated to. He had asked to be left alone, but Hannibal was beginning to consider going after him anyway.

“Hannibal!” An insistent voice and a tug on his sleeve and a little blonde girl staring stubbornly up at him and Hannibal stopped breathing. Then the girl was talking again and why was she speaking English? It didn’t make sense—except it did because she was some relation of Will’s and not the dead little girl she so resembled.

“I’m sorry, Maggie.” Hannibal forced a smile and an even tone. “Could you repeat that? I didn’t quite catch it the first time.” It had been years since English had last felt so foreign on his tongue.

“I _said_ , I need you to come with me to the table. I want cake, but it’s in the middle and I can’t reach it without climbing on a chair and Momma says I’m not s’posed to do that.” Maggie put her hands on her hips.

Hannibal’s smile softened. “Let’s see what we can do.”

***

The chill of the air-conditioned hotel room was a welcome respite from the heat. Will collapsed on the spacious bed and sighed. “Bad idea,” he mumbled, but the words had no bite.

“A few of the elephants did make it across the Alps,” Hannibal reminded him. He took off his shirt and folded it neatly, then set it on the desk.

Will cracked open an eye to watch him straighten the hastily kicked-off shoes by the door, enjoying the shift of muscle under his undershirt. “There’s no way in hell you’re dragging me back down here next year,” he promised.

“Really? I think it went rather well, all things considered.” Finished tidying (for the time being), Hannibal sat beside Will on the bed.

“You didn’t have a bunch of obnoxious toddlers trying to use you as a jungle gym,” Will grumbled. Still, he turned his head into the caress when Hannibal began stroking his hair.

Hannibal was silent for several minutes; Will had nearly dozed off by the time he spoke again. “Those children are the reason I think we should come again next year.”

“What?” Will was sure he had misheard.

“Even if it is only once a year, they deserve to have a positive example of a homosexual couple to contrast all the vitriol they hear from their parents.” Hannibal’s tone seemed to imply that he thought what he was suggesting was perfectly reasonable.

“That’s a pretty heavy burden, sole positive role model.” Will looked up at him. Hannibal avoided his eyes. “This isn’t about those kids, is it? It’s just about one of them.”

Hannibal remained silent.

“That little girl.” Will poked Hannibal’s thigh.

“Maggie.”

“Maggie. She reminds you of Mischa.”

Hannibal said nothing.

“I was watching you through the window. I saw how you froze when you looked at her.”

Still no response.

“It’s okay, you know,” Will said gently. “If…if you really want to come back, I guess I can’t make you come alone.” He sat up, turning to face Hannibal. “Assuming we get invited back.” He smiled.

“I hardly think they’ll fail to invite you next year. You’re no doubt the most interesting thing that’s happened to your family in generations.” Hannibal smirked in return.

Will laughed, relieved. “I don’t know, the cousin who moved to New Orleans to be a drag queen might give me a run for my money.”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal conceded, “but that’s assuming no one discovers the affair Julie is having with her brother-in-law. I’m almost certain the baby isn’t her husband’s.”

Will snorted. “Jesus, my family’s like a bad soap opera.”

“At least one good thing came out of it,” Hannibal reasoned, threading his fingers through Will’s hair.

“Yeah?” Will leaned in until their noses brushed. “If you say it’s me, I’m going to push you off this bed,” he murmured, “because that is the cheesiest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard.”

Hannibal kissed him briefly. “But you haven’t heard it yet.”

Will pushed at his shoulders, laughing. “You have the worst sense of humor,” he accused.

“Mm,” was the response he got as Hannibal nosed the corner of his jaw. “That is a matter of opinion.” He scraped his teeth against the soft skin there. “I find myself very funny.”

“You _are_ very funny,” Will muttered.

“Two point deduction—puns in your mother tongue are too easy.” Hannibal pulled back to smirk down at Will, who rolled his eyes.

“In case you’ve forgotten, there’s only one polyglot in the room and it isn’t me.”

Hannibal laughed softly. “A shame. You would speak French wonderfully.”

“I do speak a bit of French, actually.” Will smiled at Hannibal’s raised brow. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

“Bien sûr, mon cher Will.”

**Author's Note:**

> The "Voulez-vous...etc" that Will said means "Will you go to bed with me?" and it's not uncommon for Americans who haven't studied a word of French their entire lives to know it. A couple of the phrase's more famous uses are in Tennessee Williams' _A Streetcar Named Desire_ and the song "Lady Marmalade".
> 
> Hannibal's response: "Of course, my dear Will."


End file.
